


At Arm's Length

by inverted_typo



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Affairs, Kids, M/M, Marriage, Victorian era, homophobic society bro, jeanmarco, period au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 13:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1859631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inverted_typo/pseuds/inverted_typo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To live life truthfully is a challenge.<br/>They can't. They won't.<br/>They're a secret. A precious, precious secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Arm's Length

The sheets are so soft.

But his skin is softer.

I push myself deeper into his embrace, my leg hiking higher, up, onto his hip. My eyes closed, my lips begin to search for his.

I feel like a newborn kitten, unable to see, but knowing exactly where to go for my reward. My mouth presses lazy kisses over his hot skin, mapping and searching. I'm able to find his neck before my lips trace his sharp jaw line. From there I can find the corner of his mouth, and kiss harder, demanding attention, drawing him out of sleep.

He murmurs, groggy and low, and I can feel his palm sliding over my side and up my back. The pads of his fingers skim over my shoulder blades before dragging down my spine. My back arches against his touch. 

His kisses are as lazy as mine, our lips still tingling from last night's white hot fever.

I grope the back of his neck to pull him closer.

 "Y'know…” The room is silent as my voice flits over the still air between us. “mm…” a sigh. “you must go soon," my voice is deep and barely a whisper.

 "Yet you cling to me, anchoring me to your bed?" I can hear the smile on his lips as he speaks, tone, soft and lilting as it resonates in my ear.

I let out a chuckle, peeling my eyes open. The sun's golden light filters through the curtains, a glittery haze dusting the room.

My fingers nimbly slide along his god-like form, down his shoulder, dipping into his suspiciously curved waist, and rounding up off his hip. His skin is so fair, his complexion just a shade or so darker than porcelain.

His eyes are barely open, but I can see the honey-colored crystals. They're staring back at me.

 "Perhaps I am a very selfish man," I reason tentatively, thoughtlessly tracing circles over his skin.

 "Hardly. For the man who is notorious for donating to the charities so frequently, I think not such a quality labels you."

I roll my eyes, kissing him gently once more. When I retreat, my fingers touch his lips, allowing me to reconfirm that yes, he truly is perfect. I rest my forehead against his gently.

"My dearest Jean," I murmur, "I love you."

 "And I you," he sighs.

A moment of comfortable silence accompanies us before Jean untangles himself from my grasp. I already feel so lonely and cold.

Sitting up to see him stand, I watch his muscles flexing as he stretches. What a beautiful morning sight. He bends to retrieve his clothing, shaking them a bit before slipping them on. He fixes himself up to proper, adjusting the cuffs and his tie.

Breathtaking.

He reaches to the bedside table to retrieve his wedding band.

 

* * *

 

 

"Their parties are always so grand..."

 "Why, no I haven't heard of..."

 "...and so he tells me of his daughter's..."

 "Selling would be so beneficial..."

The crowd is large. The formality high.

The gossip is crushing.

I stand, my posture straight, smiling and greeting those who come my way. I am compelled to greet the guests I am familiar with as well. My teacup rests in its saucer, cradled carefully in my palm.

Looking around I see the faces of the noble and aristocratic parties, with a few new money families sprinkled about. I can already tell they are savoring their time on the Kirschtein estate.

The ladies' noses are powdered and their hair done just right. Their dresses are obviously up to date with the newest fashion trends. Exceptional embroidery enveloping the cloth, their ruffles overwhelming every hem. The men wear their finest suits. Their top hats high and their shoes polished as meticulously as the Queen's crown. They brought their most expensive pocket watches and canes.

The air is thick with ornament.

The rarity of such an event is always greeted with eager and intense excitement. It isn’t every day that the Kirschtein’s entertained an audience of such grandeur. It makes the ambiance nearly exaggerated in it’s lavish posture.

Often only business partners, potential investors, or close friends and relatives are actually invited personally by the Kirschteins.

I am always personally invited.

 "Earl Marco Bodt!"

I turn around, a grin smearing my face.

 "Reiner Braun!" I exclaim, "You've come back from India!"

The large man grabs my hand and shakes it violently. I laugh quite fully.

 "Indeed. And am I glad to be home. Although travel is very invigorating, it takes a toll on your energy. Plus the immense contrast in culture is hard on the mind," he exasperates, shaking his head. His large hand comes up to scratch the back of his neck. "I also received an urgent letter about my father..."

 "Your father, is he well?" I question.

 "No. The man is ridiculously stubborn, see, and refused to yield to his allergen of peanuts. He ate three, trying to prove to my mother he could handle it. The fool can't. Mother and the doctors say he blew up like a balloon, barely able to breathe."

I furrow my brows slightly, a bit too amused for my own good. Now it is clear to me; Reiner's stubbornness has an origin.

 "I give you my condolences," I say.

 "It's amazing he lived," Reiner groans, "I surely thought he was to die on my way back from the colony. ... Anyways, where is the Earl? I must thank him for inviting me to one of his finest celebrations!" he bellows loudly.

 "I haven't laid eyes on him yet. Come, look with me, Mr. Braun."

  too haven't seen Jean all morning. I want to see him. I yearn to see him, even if I must hide behind the mask of social acceptability.

Mr. Braun and I weave our way through the crowds, periodically stopping for a quick chat before resuming our search for Jean.

He has always been so elusive at social gatherings, especially his own. He is often found in the confines of the family’s vast garden, shrouded with the high hedges and exotic foliage. However, after scouring for the Earl there, we go back to the lawn. The garden seemed abandoned.

The mess of people is quite distracting, and Jean could be quite literally anywhere. I squint and try to peek over the mass of hats, bonnets and laced parasols.

 "Ah! There's his wife! He mustn't have strayed far from her!" Reiner points out.

I glance her way to see a woman, slim in build, with a soft face. Her hair is ash blonde, piled high on her head. The woman’s braids tumble down her bare shoulders. She wears a voluptuous dress gathered in a mass of cloth pinned at her side, a train draping gracefully around her feet. She's laughing about something as she puts her dainty gloved hand to her mouth, her earrings dangling as she laughs.

Right next to her is Jean. His face is of course stoic, but he seems somewhat interested in what one of their guests is saying. He stands like the loyal husband he is supposed to be, his hand resting on the small of his wife's back. His ascot is practically choking him, and his vest is smooth and clean. His double-breasted tailcoat hugs his form very fittingly...

 "Earl Kirschtein!" Reiner practically hollers, causing Jean to look our way.

Even from our distance I can see his eyes light up as our eyes meet. His hand retracts from the corseted waist of his wife. I find that I can breathe a little better now.

We make our way to the small gathering and Jean smiles when he spots Reiner. My heart flips when he smiles at me.

 "Earl Bodt! Mr. Braun! What a pleasure to see you!" he greets with genuine enthusiasm.  

I hate it when he can't use my first name.

Reiner shakes hands with Jean before taking his wife's hand and kissing it.

 "Happy Birthday, m'lady," he smiles politely, "You're even more fair and beautiful than I remember."

She giggles and smiles.

She basks in the attention, already glancing my way, almost as if to remind me that it is expected for me, too; to glorify her presence, "You only flatter me because of the celebration! Which I might add is exceptionally splendid thanks to my husband."

Jean flashes her a plastic smile. "It is your birthday, darling, how could we not celebrate?" he puts on such an incredible face.

 "We could have had a private affair yet you spoil me with a grand party such as this! It's so flamboyant you might as well have invited the Queen."

 "She, unfortunately, declined our invitation," he jokes gently, returning his gaze to me.

 "You are very lucky, my Lady," I add cheerfully.

It is my turn to kiss Lady Kirschtein's hand.

 

* * *

 

The five of us are throwing our heads back in laughter. We sit around the table, completely secluded in his personal parlour, under Jean's directions. It is Friday night and Jean's turn to host our weekly gathering. I sit close to Jean, my foot brushing against his every so often underneath the clothed table.

Connie Springer, a comical character and the son of new money; his father mined an incredible volume of diamonds in Africa.

Bertolt Hoover, quiet and reserved, but has lots of power due to his nobility status.

Reiner Braun, the loud and obnoxious high class aristocrat.

Jean Kirschtein, also standing in the ranks of nobility, is known for having a slightly aggressive personality.

These are my friends. These are the men who despite business numbers, social gossip and social class labeling, will always have my back, and I will have theirs.

 "There is no way you're going to win that bet, Connie! You fucking gambler!" Reiner explodes.

 "Reiner...! This isn't your home..." Bertolt cautiously chides, nervously glancing at Jean who shrugs.

 "As long as I do not catch him relieving his personal urges in my damn parlour again, that prick can say whatever he wants," Jean sneers irritably.

Connie and I snicker uncontrollably, slamming our glasses down on the table. I'm more than certain Bertolt just covered his face in sheer grandfathered embarrassment. Reiner only smirks smugly.

 "At least I wasn't the one who allegedly courted a maid!" Mr. Braun counters, glaring challenging daggers at Connie, who in turn blushed a bright red. Rightfully so.

 "Oi! That was before I wedded Sasha! Virtually, I have not one spec of dirt on me, sir!"

I quirked a brow, "My, my. You all are so scandalous! Be sure to pass it on to the local gossips." Sneaking a knowing look Jean's way, he scoffs and crosses his arms.

 "Rumors say that Annie Leonhardt killed her husband. Apparently that fire was no accident. Although there is no proof," I mention with a dismissing wave of my hand.

 "Annie Leonhardt may as well be a myth," Jean retorts, "Since that fire occurred, she has not been seen at all. Her body was never recovered from the estate. All records of the woman cease to exist, as well."

Reiner and Bertolt exchange looks.

 It does not go unnoticed.

 "Some people are quite skilled in covering their tracks," the tallest of us all cautioned, "You of all people should know that..."

 

* * *

 

He falls on my like dead weight, and I catch him. We're both panting, our mouths parched and our bodies sore.

 "Marco..." he swallows, burying his face into my neck, "Marco, Marco, Marco...my perfect, sweet angel, Marco."

His voice is trembling, and I tighten my hold on him. If I let go, I feel like I'll lose him forever into an unfathomable abyss of despair and longing. I kiss his temple and close my eyes. My heart doesn't slow down like it should. My pulse is quickening and my nerves are racking. My stomach contorts as I feel tears trickle down my shoulder as Jean shakes.

 He holds me even tighter.

 This does not comfort my sudden anxiety. "What is it...? What's hurting you?" I breathe.

 He doesn't lift his head. He doesn't speak. He only holds me. Normally this is heaven, normally this my Nirvana. Normally this embrace does not terrify me. Jean doesn't hold me as just a lover tonight. He holds me like a precious toy that comforts a child in the dark. He buries his face in my neck not to endear me, but to hide himself within me.

 Tonight was not just passion, but desperation.

 Desperation is haunting when you don't know the cause.

 He lifts his head finally. His eyes meet mine. They're glazed over with tears and...not sorrow...but...regret...fear... He looks at me as if he has been sentenced to something horrible. His hand comes up and strokes my cheek.

 "God...I love you so much."

I feel like he isn't telling this to me. I search his eyes frantically for an answer. I can't see any. All I can see is a hollow stare, "Jean...you're scaring me..."

 "She's pregnant, Marco."

 

* * *

 

Stone. It is strong, sturdy and immobile. It is definite, concrete and permanent.

Sometimes stone can be shaped into beautiful, magnificent things. Stone can be carved into exquisite, divine sculptures that capture the elegance of life.

However, if you try to change it, it breaks and shatters. It takes uncanny amounts of effort to try to restore broken stone. If you are able to restore it, it does not look nearly as pristine as its first existence.

More often than not, broken stone cannot be fixed.

So you best be off to not try and change stone at all.

 

* * *

 

Jean and I still meet. It isn't nearly as frequently, unfortunately, but we still have our time together outside of the bland and two dimensional high society we thrive in.

I've met Jean's son.

He is truly adorable. Jean has given me the title of "Uncle Marco". Mrs. Kirschtein had made the statement of, "Perhaps Earl Marco will be like a second father to him!" It is planned for me to be very involved in this young boy's life.

Quite frankly, I look forward to it.

The little boy is bright and looks just like his father. I'm  pleased I don't hold any biased grudges against the innocent boy. I was terrified I might harbor such feelings towards him...

I am inevitably reminded, however, that he made Jean's arranged life much more real than before. It made Jean and I’s world much more like fantasy.

I look over the side of the crib and peer down at my "nephew". He's asleep, snoring lightly. Already, there's a tuft of sandy brown hair atop his head. Jean leans down and kisses his head.

 "Do you love him?" I ask.

 "More than I could have ever imagined."

I smile gently.

 "Good. I do, too."

Jean looks at me and motions for me to bend down. I do. We kiss. I feel whole.

There's a pause after we retreat, Jean's son still blissfully unaware of the sin his father and I have just committed right under his cute, button nose.

 "Do you think there is a world where we have our own family?" the new father curiously wonders.

I am a bit taken aback by such a theory.

 "I... I would not know. Do you want there to be?"

 "Yes. I do. I definitely want to have a family with you Marco."

I look at him incredibly. Blinking a few times, I shake my head.

 "Then in that case, Jean Kirschtein, we have already fallen in love, gotten married, and had a beautiful son of our own."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much GrapeJellyfish for beta'ing this for me!!  
> My firs beta because I am a lame.  
> It wouldn't have turned out nearly as good without her help! 
> 
> I love the Victorian Era so much and love affairs are my ultimate weakness.  
> 


End file.
